In Which Mario Dies
by Ai Romnol
Summary: Two related one-shots. In response to a picture on dA with a ASDF Movie 3 reference, concerning Mario and Cesare.
1. In Which Mario Dies

Cesare Borgia belongs to himself and/or Ubisoft, while Mario Auditore belongs to the latter.

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><p>Cesare Borgia was, contrary to popular belief, a morning person, at least where grooming was concerned. So one average morning found him in front of his bath mirror, towel around his waist, trimming his fabulous goatee, as usual, when came an unconventional visitor at his window.<p>

"**Hey Cesare**," called Mario Auditore from the window-ledge.

Too absorbed in his hygiene, the son of the Pope simply registered his name being said, and answered with an absentminded "Hm?"

**"There's something on your face!" **Mario, with a silence and speed belying his bulk, had climbed through the window and approached the distracted man with a fist raised in preparation for a punch, a shit-eating grin all over his face.

Cesare, finally realising there was an _Assassin_ in his room, dropped his razor, grabbed the towel more securely around his waist, sucked in a split-second too late breath to yell for the guards no doubt snoozing in the hall, and cringed, bracing for the impact of a leather-clad fist crunching his nose.

There was a sharp sounding crack in the air, but the expected assault never came.

Instead, when the Templar dared open an eye to see what happened, a macabre sight greeted him. The leader of the italian Assassins lay on the floor, blood leaking from a small round hole in the back of his head.

Nearly having a heart attack for the second time that morning, it was all Cesare could do to whimper "Guards!" as he sank to the floor in a dead faint, right next to his sworn enemy.

And unknown to all, from the roof across the street there stood a teenage brunette, with glasses and extremely displeased expression on her face, aiming a sniper rifle just where the bullet had entered the elder Auditore's head.

**"No,"** she murmured to the corpse across the street.

**"No one touches **_**my **_**Cesare."**


	2. In Which Mario Gets Revenge

Cesare Borgia belongs to himself and/or Ubisoft, while Mario Auditore belongs to the latter.

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><p>After a long, long day dealing with imbeciles that obviously have no clue about his family or how important they were, Cesare Borgia was trudging down the hall to his room for a refreshing night's sleep. The farther and farther away from the guards and morons, he slouched more and more until he was practically bent over. Stifling a yawn, he pulled out the key to his lavish room.<p>

**"Tiring day, huh?" **A baritone voice brought him out of his fatigue-induced daze.

A near-heart attackwhirled the Templar around, pressing himself against the door. "What? Who's there?" But no one was in sight. '_That voice... No, it could be. It's impossbile, he's dead. I'm too tired, I'm imagining things,' _he thought, but with caution befitting his overly-exaggerated movements, he looked up, right, left and down, searching for any sign of Assassins.

Assured that it was indeed his imagination, he slowly turned around, still half-expecting a shadowed form to jump out of some crevice. Even though he knew no one was is the hall, the son of the Pope still had the feeling of a presence behind him. Thankfully, he'd held onto the key.

Cesare fairly ran into his room and slammed to door behind him. With a sigh, he discarded his armour and formal regalia without care of where they landed or what they landed on.

For once, on a day like this, the commander decided to actually get ready for sleep, instead of just flopping ungracefully on the soft, overstuffed velvet cushion that was his bed.

Making sure all the windows were shut and locked, a habit he'd picked up a few weeks ago, the raven-haired man stripped and stepped into his bathing room. The servants always left hot water for him, even if he didn't use it. This time though, he did and he felt thoroughly clean and happy after he'd done so. '_Screw the nay-sayers,' _he thought. Most of the nobles though it quite base for a man of his stature to wash and dress himself, but Cesare found it almost relaxing.

He was nearly done easing the tension of the day away when the sound of furniture moving in his room made him freeze. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head towards the door. Making sure his bare feet were utterly silent, he moved as cautious as a rabbit.

Peeking out, he saw nthing out of the ordinary... except an ottoman had been moved in front of one of his favourite chairs, a wide, cushy thing of suede fabric. To be perfectly honestly and a little more than polite, the thing was hideous, but it was too comfortable to have anywhere else. It was almost preferable to his bed actually. But he never had an ottoman in front of it. Time spent in that chair was time spent curled up with his heel hanging his feet from the front.

Still entirely naked, he ventured out, still ever aware of his surroundings and mysterious moving furniture, he kicked the ottoman back into its appoximated place.

The feeling of eyes on him creeped him out enough to send him fleaing back into the washroom.

Finally pulling on his loose white nightshirt and an old comfy pair of tan-ish breeches he usually wore when sleeping, the Templar was about to turn in for the night. He yawned widely and stretched, walking over to the bed when he felt a draft.

A window was open.

It was that window.

The one that had been dubbed ever-so-eloquently by the servants as the Assassin's Window.

**"You look like you've seen a ghost." **an amused voice came from the direction of his favourite ottoman.

For the second time that night, Cesare spun on his heel to face..._ Mario Auditore?_

"You... you're dead!" The Pope's son stuttered, in his always smooth way.

The ghost, to his credit, simply rolled his eyes. **"You're a sharp one, aren't you?" **And it was the former Mentor, perhaps a little transparent and with a small hole between his brows, but it was him.

"B-b-but.. how-I mean-wha-" Another near bout of cardiac arrest had the Borgia hyper-ventilating.

**"Calm down," **the ghost laughed. **"Or on second thought, don't. You're better company quiet."**

**"But you're dead!"** Cesare yelled hoarsely. His eyes were huge with fear now.

**"Does this seem dead to you?"** the Auditore leapt up, lunged and aimed his fist at the Templar's head. As the ghostly fist passed harmlessly, at least physically, through Cesare's head, he fell to the floor, in a dead faint, with the smallest whimper of "Guards!" passing his lips.

Mario chuckled.


	3. In Which Cesare Needs a Life

Cesare Borgia belongs to himself and/or Ubisoft, while Mario Auditore belongs to the latter.

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><p>Cesare Borgia was a busy man. Usually. Except for today. Today, it seemed, no one wanted to make his life harder. The people that owed debts paid them, no mysterious guard deaths, not even his new war machines had been targeted.<p>

He had to wonder, _' Where are all the Assassins? Have a missed a holiday?'_

His questions would remain unanswered, at least for today.

So he sat at his desk, all his paperwork done. No one needed him to supervise something or make decisions, no where for him to be...

Perhaps he could call on a friend? Yes, he would do that, but who?

The Templar stared at the wall for a while. He couldn't visit anyone. Most of his aquaintances with whom he'd spend leisure time pretending to like and cared for had been assassinated by that damned Ezio Auditore. All the others now ran at his approach, more afraid of the repercussions of associating with him than the repercussions if they did not.

His family was out of the question as Lucrezia had her merits as company, she was probably fondling her newest loverboy, and he didn't feel like that kind of attention right now. And his father... his father was a dodderingold fool. No need to waste time on the dead.

So... he still had nothing to do.

Cesare sunk in his chair. A pout began to form on his thin lips.

Then he sank lower.

And even lower.

Lower still, and his eyes were level with the desk. He shoulders were pressed against the sides of his head as his arms hung limp over the armrests.

The Borgia glared at the wood in fornt of him with unequaled menace.

If it had been living, it would have shrunk away to the furthest corner of the room and cried in fear.

Or so Cesare like to think.

**"Is that what you've lowered yourself to?" **a familiar voice asked. **"Glaring at desks?"**

The son of the Pope cursed and jumped into a better posture. Schooling his expression back into his best death-glare he glanced out the corner of his eyes at Mario.

Ah yes, the devil himself on a good day.

Okay, not really. Even Cesare himself had to admit he wasn't _that_ bad.

He's really just been scaring the Templar shitless everytime he tried to sleep.

And laughing at his despair and frustration.

And moving thatdamned ottoman in front of his favourite chair, which apparently the spirit had claimed for his own.

So maybe he was that bad.

The thoughts of the ghost's antics brought another degree of a scowl to the commander's face.

The unhappy silence dragged on until the deceased spoke again. **"Surely there's someone you can torment? A beggar? Some courteseans? Why not kick a puppy?"**

He jerked angrily at the last comment. The poltergeist knew how much he adored dogs, despite being allergic to them. He muttered furiously under his breath.

**"What? Didn't catch that,"** Mario inquired off-handedly.

I said, the only living creature I want to torture is your nephew," came the vicious reply. _"The living one."_

**"What will that accomplish, again?"**

"It will make me happy."

**"It will piss a quite a lot of people off," **The dead Auditore added, **"Including me," **as an after thought.

"And I should be afraid of you, a dead man? Hah!"

**"Yes, you should."**

Then Mario lunged at Cesare, making the raven-haired man leapt out of his seat and shriek shrilly.

The ghost would have rolled on the ground laughing if he had been physically capable, while the other man, praying the shriek would go unnoticed by the guards outside, attempted to regain his cool.

_'Deep, slow breaths, Cesare, deep, slow breaths.'_ The recovering man repeated over and over in his head.

Some of the laziest (or perhaps, wisest) guards imaginable sauntered in a minute or so later. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes! I'm fine you morons!" the Templar snapped. "But you won't be if it takes that long for you to respond again!"

"Y-yes sir!" the guard saluted, trying to be earnest to their commander, but really, there was no way in hell they were going to tango with an Assassin.

A quick "Dismissed," and the guards scampered.

The former Mentor was still wiping away tears of mirth.

"Shut up," the Pope's son snapped, though much more quietly than he had at the guards.

**"Learn to take a joke, man,"** Mario waved his hand dismissively.

Cesare growled.

**"Whatever," **the ghost said cooly. **"You can stay here with nothing to do for the rest of your life for all I care. I've got stuff to do. **_**Some **_**people do have a life, you know."**

And then the Templar was alone again. With nothing at all to do. And that entire scenario didn't even last an hour.

It began to dawn on the poor man that even the dead had a better social life than him.


End file.
